


Memories of Shrapnel

by FoggyJ



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Reference to pre-game events, Semi-established relationship, sharing bedrolls (winkwink)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggyJ/pseuds/FoggyJ
Summary: Bill often has dreams about his past, both while awake and sleeping. There's no reprieve except for drinking and distracting. But maybe there's something new.
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Bill Williamson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Memories of Shrapnel

There was a rustling in the tall, golden grass. An ominous whisper that warned the troops that they were invading on a land that wasn’t their God-given right to claim. 

He was sure it weren’t just the coyotes again, drinking up the scent of buffalo meat still in the air from the recent fireside dinner, snuffling around for scraps or other valuables to swipe. 

Something instinctive and primal, a sense already restless after weeks in the savage praire wilderness, was finally putting itself to good use. 

He hadn’t been sleeping, but he felt himself awaken, sharpen, muscles tightening as he reached for the gun at his side even before the first blood-curdling cry and blackpowder shots resounded across the barren, untraceable region. 

The scantily supported tent that he and his comrades had their sleeping rolls under quickly collapsed around them as soldiers panicked to escape, either into the action or out of it. 

He managed to tear his way out of the heavy canvass sea just to be face to face with hell. A native shot the brains out of a fellow cavalry man standing not six feet away, and pure terror clawed its way through him as he saw the indian put his sights on him as other soldiers were slaughtered around them, horrible screams of the dying and war cries of the savages knocking around in his head. 

Death was upon him. 

“Bill! Uh, Mr. Williamson..?”

He was awake now, but it was still the middle of the night. Still in the wilderness. Pitch dark. Even though he was disoriented and only half awake, Bill knew immediately that it was Kieran who was at the entrance of his makeshift tent to interrupt his sleep. 

Why did Kieran still bother with formalities? Not that Bill didn’t like it, necessarily, just found it amusing the way that the other man felt the need to call him “Mr.” and “Sir” and hover at the front of the tent as if both men hadn’t been inside of it together before.

However, it was unusual for Kieran to wake him up, and it wasn’t something he took kindly from anyone. 

“The hell d’you want?” Bill grumbled, rubbing crust out of his eyes and propping himself up with one arm.

A quiet, uncomfortable silence. They hadn’t exactly gone to bed on good terms--Kieran had refused to share a tent with him, even out here in the wilderness, away from camp--and Bill’s grumpiness now wasn’t doing anything except prolong the awkward strain. 

“I just.. Sounded like you were talking, or yelling,” Even though it was dark, Bill could tell that the other man wasn’t looking in his direction. “I came to check on you, saw you were asleep. Figured you were, uh, having.. A nightmare,” 

Bill scoffed. It sounded childish, and he knew that was why Kieran had hesitated. He heard the other man start to retreat, and realized he couldn’t be alone with his dreams again; yet, realized calling Kieran back would be admitting that he himself was wrong. Make him weak. 

But he wasn’t in the army any more, there were no ranks here--maybe there were back in camp, but not between the two of them--and perhaps it didn’t matter if Kieran knew the violent truths that he revisited every night. Who was he going to tell, anyways?

He cringed before the words could leave his mouth, but the increasing fear of being abandoned in the dark tent forced them out.

“I was,” he choked out, and cleared his throat. “I have a lot of ‘em,” 

Silence. 

Silence was good, right? It meant that Kieran had paused, maybe wasn’t going to leave afterall--

“It happens to everyone,” Kieran softly replied, and he crawled back into the tent. Suddenly it was too hot, too crowded, so Bill moved over in an invitation to share the bedroll. 

Kieran carefully settled down to make sure there was a few inches of separation between the two, reminding Bill of the timid barn cats that often hid around the stables he visited. Perhaps it was best if he didn’t try to break the boundary that Kieran was obviously setting; best not to scare him off like he always did. 

They didn’t talk again. It was enough for Bill to feel the friendly warmth radiating next to him and to hear the comforting breathing for him to eventually lull back into a contented sleep. 

Bill’s gentle snoring didn’t bother Kieran as much as it maybe should have. It made him seem a bit less intimidating, a bit more vulnerable. This whole situation had. Kieran scolded himself before he scooted closer to his companion, until their sides were just barely touching. They'd been closer before. They weren't strangers to eachother anymore, even less so after Bill had for once admitted to a weakness. But for now, this was close enough. Satisfied, Kieran drifted into a dreamless, but happy, state.

**Author's Note:**

> This is. Not very good. I wrote most of this quite a while ago and wrapped it up today and decided to just post it since I haven't written in so long. And because I wanted to explore Bill's past in the army a bit. Maybe comment or message me any suggestions with this pairing or others because I'm creatively bankrupt :)


End file.
